


By Other Means

by havisham



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Height Differences, M/M, Poor Life Choices, Secret Relationship, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maitimo purposes a unique solution to their problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Other Means

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this prompt](https://porn-tree.dreamwidth.org/23215.html?thread=550063#cmt550063), although still lacking the sex part. Or the solutions part. But that's not for lack of trying. Thus the need for a second chapter! 
> 
> Thanks to Elleth for betaing. ♥

 

In every house, no matter how gracious and well-appointed, there was bound to be a room that was usually small, poky, ill-lit and dusty. This particular room was all of those things, and more besides -- it was located in the wing of the palace that had been largely abandoned, after Míriel's death, and that was why Maitimo had arranged for them to meet there. Maitimo had reasoned that no one would expect anyone to venture into that corner of the house, and so their privacy was assured. 

But Findekáno was not too sure in that regard. He himself had passed by three rather furtive-looking individuals in the halls, who had looked as dismayed to see him and he had them. But still he pressed on, turning left at the stag-tapestry, as per Maitimo's instructions, and then up a spiral staircase, through a hidden doorway and down a long corridor and finally stopping at the second to the last door on the left.

Maitimo, Findekáno decided, had gone too far this time. He opened the door, those words on his lips when he saw that he was alone. The room was empty. 

"Ha," Findekáno said quietly, going in. 

It was obvious that Maitimo had strayed from his own path. Or perhaps he was only running late? He looked around the room, and saw that someone had painted thin little vines on the walls, which undulated and twisted around. The patten gave strange sort of movement in the otherwise still space. Findekáno sat on the dusty bed and crossed his arms. Eventually, he lay down. 

He was tired, he realized. He had spent a long day in court, being as charming as he could be, all the while feeling as though he might bolt from the room at any moment. His father and Fëanáro had been there, glaring at each from across the room, their followers split down the middle almost perfectly. Findekáno knew, of course, that most of the Noldor followed his father but -- Fëanáro had the support of some of the more influential nobles, those who had never accepted Indis as queen. 

Findekáno had seen Maitimo there, of course, as Fëanáro's tall, redheaded shadow. Courtesy dictated that Findekáno go over and greet his uncle and his cousin, and so he did. Fëanáro, his eyes blazing, seemed to just look through him. Maitimo had barely greeted him, his gaze concentrated on the floor. 

Findekáno, disheartened, wondered if their secret meeting was off, until Maitimo caught his hand for a moment, and squeezed it. He let go so quickly that Findekáno could almost believe he had imagined it. Maitimo looked up, to some point above Findekáno's right shoulder and made an inane remark about the weather. Findekáno made an equally inane reply back. 

And so it went. On and and on. 

Findekáno sighed and looked up to the faded canopy. At one time, it might have been a vibrant red. But age had worn it down to a sickly salmon, the color of a calf's tongue. He hated it, this secrecy, this skulking around, meeting in rooms that no one had breathed in for generations. More than anything, Findekáno wished he could go back to the ways things used to be, when he had treated Fëanáro's house like it was his own, when he could walk beside Maitimo, to touch him, to speak to him without fear. 

It seemed almost a dream, now... Findekáno felt his eyes grow heavy. Fretfully, he wondered what could have delayed Maitimo so much. 

* 

He woke to the distant sound of chimes, the sign of the Mingling coming to an end. The window of the room was the size of a book, and dark -- the palace had grown up around it, shading it from the light of the Trees. But still, Findekáno could see a faint gleam of silver against the panel. His stomach sank. 

Maitimo had not come. 

*

In the days and weeks after, Findekáno threw himself into as many projects, as many parties, as many intrigues, as he could. He was seen with young Laurfindil's arm tossed around his shoulder, and he also imprudently volunteered to show a charming country-lady all that Tirion had to offer, starting with a midnight garden party at his uncle's country home. 

Eldalótë was delicate and pretty, and so short that Findekáno felt like an awkward giant, standing next to her. She also possessed mischievous sense of humor, which please him. She stood in some contrast to other, rather more grave maidens at court. She demanded to know all kinds of gossip, and Findekáno indulged her. They were walking, arm and arm, down a shady grove of trees, when they were passed by retinue of supporters of Fëanáro, all wearing glittering symbols of their house. Maitimo, looking especially haughty and beautiful, dressed in silks and jewels, led them forward.

Eldalótë fluttered her fan nervously. 

"Who is that?" she whispered to him.

Findekáno frowned and said, with considerable asperity, "That is Nelyafinwë, third of the name, if you happen not to count two others who came before him." 

"Ah, that is a part of your family drama?" Eldalótë said, giving him an interested look. 

Findekáno shrugged. "A rather dull part of it, yes." 

He was quiet and unsociable for the rest of the evening, and eventually Eldalótë walked off with Angaráto, who had been hovering around her all night. Findekáno took his loss philosophically enough; he headed for the wine table and availed himself on practically anything on offer. His favorite was a honey-sweet wine that immediately went to his head.

Somewhere in the dark, a woman started to sing of love, new-found and joyous. A plaintive harp played along with her. Her voice was as light as the wine on Findekáno's tongue. His head spun and his heart clenched in his chest. He looked out into the crowd, full of dancers, young people with their arms around each other, and wished more than anything that he could join them. 

The music changed now, a solo becoming a duet, and sound swelling up as more instruments joined it. Strings, drums, more voices. 

Findekáno made up his mind. He had never lacked for courage, and would not now. Gulping down the last of the wine, he ventured out into the crowd. Someone shouted his name, a pair of hands grabbed him. In the tumult, he blinked, rather befuddled, before he saw Maitimo looming over him. Their hands touched briefly. 

"Meet me at the boathouse," Maitimo said in a low voice, beside him, but Findekáno turned his head away. 

The music grew louder, faster, more frantic before it suddenly broke off, notes splintering in the warm night air. The dance floor -- which was just a patch of grass beaten flat with many feet -- quickly became deserted. Findekáno thought he saw a flash of red, ahead of him. 

Quite deliberately, he turned and made his way back across the emptying glade. His mood had turned. He no longer wished to entertain the notion of haring off to Maitimo once again. Hadn't he any pride? Didn't he have any dignity? 

Why should he bend and scrape for bits of Maitimo's attention? He was, after all, equal in every way to Maitimo himself -- in every way that mattered, anyway. 

Almost against his will, Findekáno's feet led him to the boathouse. The boathouse -- and the canals it served, was Arafinwë's way of bringing moving water to wife, Eärwen, the Swan-Maiden of Alqualondë. The canals fed into a large lake on the the other side of the property, while the canals, through a rather clever system of locks and dams, managed to go all the way to Tirion, and through it. 

Findekáno decided that the chances were good that Maitimo would fail to appear once again. So, Findekáno decided that he would take one of Findaráto's racing boats, and go down one of the waterways. He knew that eventually, the canals led to a river, and that, to the sea. He wanted to go away for some time, and would send his apologies later. 

The boathouse came into view, set apart as it was from the tangle of the garden. It has been built to look like miniature of Olwë's palace in Alqualondë, complete with little turrets and secret nooks and crannies. As a child, Findekáno had loved to play here, but now it had an eerie look. The walls outside gleamed pearlescent, and ripple and reflection of water throwing strange dance of light and shadows against the wall. 

A tall figure, however, blotted out most of the view. Maitimo was waiting for him, leaning against the wall. He greeted Findekáno with a small, mocking smile, and did not react when Findekáno pushed him against the wall. 

"Why didn't you come?" Findekáno demanded. 

"What do you mean? Am I not here?" Maitimo took Findekáno's hands and began to rub them against his own, almost painfully. Findekáno set his jaw tightly and scowled. He dropped his gaze down, and saw that their hands were still clasped together. Given his tall frame, it would have made sense for Maitimo's hands to be the same -- long and thin - but he had inherited Nerdanel's hands as well as her hair, and so, his hands were powerful things, shapely and beautiful, but his fingers blunt and thick. Freckles dusted the top of his hands. 

Findekáno blinked, distracted. "What were we speaking of?"

"You were going to admonish me on my lack of faith," Maitimo said. "Although I sent message after message. You must have gotten there early." 

"Why didn't you come?" 

Maitimo let him go, looking suddenly, inexplicably unhappy. “I had to -- our grandfather insisted that I stay.” 

“What for?” Findekáno asked, feeling a little stupid. Finwë rarely insisted on anything, having a singularly patient outlook on life. "Or will you not tell me?" 

"I will tell you," Maitimo said, looks at him intently. "For you are my closest friend, and I trust you more than anything, save for my brothers, maybe. Finwë called me away to tell me that he plans to give up the kingship." 

"That is impossible," Findekáno said automatically. He could not imagine the Noldor without Finwë, he could not imagine Tirion without his grandfather. "And if it was -- why does he tell you?" 

Maitimo gave him a wry look. "Why not me? I have very trustworthy demeanor about me." 

"Ha! But then, I know. Fëanáro would look upon kingship as a burden, something to keep him away from his real work. But my father..." Findekáno fell silent. He knew that it was a long-cherished wish of his father's that Finwë would relinquish the crown to him, for Nolofinwë knew better than anyone that Fëanáro could not be king. 

Oh yes, Fëanáro's words could move people to great works, but he himself would soon forget them, moving on as he did to new, different projects. Maitimo, on the other hand... Findekáno found himself looking at his lover with a speculative eye. It was true that Maitimo looked as splendid as any king could, even pressed against the wall of the darkened boathouse. 

Maitimo sighed. “I suppose we ought to come to blows because you believe my father is not fit to be king --” 

“I didn’t say that --” 

“But the truth of the matter is that -- my father has not been asked. Finwë asked me.” 

A silence descended upon them, so complete that Findekáno could hear the quiet slap of water against the dock. Maitimo seemed to withdraw into himself, folding his hands against his chest. 

Finally, Findekáno said, in a low voice, “Well done, Nelyafinwë! Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Maitimo sighed explosively. “What do you know of what I want? I told grandfather no.” 

“I know nothing of what you want, as the last few days have shown me. Why are you telling me all of this, Maitimo? So I can shower you with love and sympathy? So I can ply you with soft words, when I know that it is unjust that grandfather should have looked to you for a job that my own father has spent his life trying to prove that he can do? I think you are selfish, and a fool, if you expected something different from me.” 

Maitimo’s expression hardly changed, as he listened to Findekáno’s outburst. When it was over, he cocked his head for a moment before he smiled, suddenly and radiantly. “No, Findekáno. If you were some pretty simperer, I would have told you nothing. As it is -- you know what a coward I am, you have known long enough. Why have you endured my company for so long, if you detest me?” 

“You know well that I don't detest you,” Findekáno said testily. “Quite the opposite. Although I do sometimes find your elaborate self-reproach rather tiresome." 

"That is well enough. They don't call you call you Findekáno the Patient, after all." 

Then he leaned down, and placed a gentle kiss on Findekáno's lips. Findekáno sighed, and pulled down Maitimo's lapels, so he could deepen their kiss. 

"I think you've grown taller since we last kissed," Findekáno said, after they pulled away. He knew his cheeks were flushed, but he had to say something. "How can that be?" 

"Perhaps you've shrunk," Maitimo suggested.

"I am of perfectly normal height," Findekáno said with dignity. "It is not my fault that I am surrounded by those who have more inches than sense." 

Maitimo looked at him and raised his brows, needing to say nothing. Findekáno blushed. 

Then, inevitably, they kissed again. Slower this time, with passion written in every line of their bodies. Afterward, slightly dazed, Findekáno went and stood next to Maitimo, leaning against the wall. Maitimo seemed lost in thought. 

There was much that Maitimo wasn't telling him, Findekáno decided. But it was surely significant, the things he did say? 

Maitimo looked up now and nodded sharply, as if he had made up his mind. He turned and looked at Findekáno, his expression more intense than Findekáno had ever seen it. "Findekáno," he said gravely, "why don't we run away together?" 

Findekáno knew that there was countless reasons to laugh now, to joke that Maitimo had taken leave of his senses. Or take his words seriously, and remind him that they had many responsibilities here. Instead, Findekáno found himself nodding. 

"Yes," he said. "Let's go."


End file.
